The Emperor of All Things - By Paul Witcover Page 0,85

faded as he took in the details of the roof. He knew them very well. There was the chimney behind which he had concealed himself two nights ago. There the skylight from which, wreathed in grey smoke, Grimalkin had emerged.

Longinus had brought him to Lord Wichcote’s house.

He was betrayed.

7

Lord Wichcote

WHAT SECONDS EARLIER had seemed like salvation took on a very different aspect as the men on the rooftop – there were at least a dozen – reeled Quare in like an eel dragged from the Thames … though that hypothetical eel would have had a better chance of slipping the hook than Quare of escaping his harness. Longinus had liberated him from one jailer only to deliver him, snugly trussed, to another. Perhaps Lord Wichcote did not want him dead, as the Old Wolf did – though it occurred to Quare that he had only Longinus’s word on that – but his lordship was no friend of the Worshipful Company. Lord Wichcote would not have had him brought here out of benevolent philanthropy. He wanted something.

The flickering torchlight imparted a hellish cast to the frantic activity below. Red-glazed hands reached up for him, taking hold of his legs and pulling him roughly down. Even before his feet touched solid ground, other hands were busy at the straps and buckles of his harness. Nearby, Longinus was being similarly attended to. The servants were well practised at this work, and in less than a minute had extracted both men. The Personal Flotation Devices were dragged to the far side of the roof; Quare surmised that the bladders could not be vented near the torches owing to the danger of an explosion. But that was the least of his worries.

The servants had not taken away his sword, as he had feared they would. Nor did they make any attempt to restrain him. In truth, it was all he could do to remain upright. His legs seemed to have become unfamiliar with the ground … either that, or the ground had grown less stable in the time of his absence from it. He would have liked nothing better than to lie down on the rooftop and close his eyes until the world stopped wobbling and his queasy stomach settled. But this was no time to give way to weakness. A grinning Longinus was striding towards him. He had lost his wig in the flight, and his bare scalp gleamed in the torchlight, putting Quare in mind of a vulture. He drew his sword.

Longinus stopped short, smile vanishing. ‘I confess I had expected a warmer thanks for having saved your life, Mr Quare.’ He motioned with one hand for the servants to stay back.

‘Take another step and you will find it hot indeed, I promise you,’ Quare said. ‘Why have you brought me to Lord Wichcote’s house?’

‘Ah, so you recognize it, then. Good.’

‘Lord Wichcote was no friend to Master Magnus, and he is no friend to the Worshipful Company, either.’

‘In that you are quite wrong,’ Longinus said. ‘His lordship has long been a benefactor of the Worshipful Company and a close associate of Master Magnus – I will not say a friend, because that gentleman, God rest his troubled soul, was not capable of genuine friendship with any creature besides a cat. But the two men, for all their differences, had a genuine respect for each other and worked together often, if behind the scenes. They did not always see eye to eye, but when it came to the interests of guild and country, there was no space between them. Only, it suited them to have the world believe them enemies. A secret ally is often of more value than a friend whom all the world can see, as this night has amply demonstrated. So put up your sword, Mr Quare. You have nothing to fear from Lord Wichcote.’

‘I think not,’ said Quare, his glance shifting to the surrounding servants, all of whom were watching intently. Yet not one of them made a threatening move in his direction. It seemed that Longinus had some authority over them.

‘A shame,’ Longinus said meanwhile, and, moving faster than Quare would have guessed possible in a man of his age, drew his own sword.

The next few seconds were a blur to Quare. He had thought Aylesford a skilled swordsman, but Longinus was in another class altogether. Quare managed two weak parries before the sword was wrenched from his hand as if by an invisible force; it clattered to the